


If Abby Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [18]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: Abby is not a happy bunny, Symons has gotten on her last nerve. Prank war ensues.





	If Abby Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy

If Abby ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

.beta by Jake and Jordre

This story occurs at the same time as Savages. It’s going to be just a bunch of short bits about the pranks. That means a lot of scene breaks as I switch between people.

.

Abby Scuito was not a happy scientist. She was ready to do something really, really mean, but that jerk Dr. Osborn Symons the Third was getting on her last nerve. She was used to some of the team leads being demanding—Gibbs did come to mind—but they soon learned that treating her rudely or asking her to fudge results would get them reported to Vance.

Leon Vance was a politician of the first water, so he was well aware that certain people needed special handling to get the best out of them. The Forensics Department was one of those special groups. If she reported that anyone wanted her to ‘fiddle’ the data to suit their already established case, he’d have the offender up on the carpet at once. He was having trouble with Dr. Ozzy because he, the doctor, was convinced that his shirt-tail relationship to the Secretary of the Navy made him untouchable. She decided to prove him wrong. After all, she was one of only three people in the world who could kill someone, dispose of the body, and leave absolutely no forensic evidence behind. The other two were Temperance Brennan and Ilya Kuznetzov. 

After a few moments of thought Abby sent several text messages, then went to see who had dinged at her. As she recorded the results of the tests, she also thought of what to do about Dr. Ozzy. No one called him Dr. Symons or even Doctor; most of NCIS called him Mr. Symons or Ozzy… or things not repeatable in mixed, or polite, company. 

Abby nibbled at her lip, wondering what she should do. She was startled when the man in question himself stormed into her lab, slammed a tray of samples down on her table, barked, “Here! Do get it done in a timely manner,” and left again.

“Okay, mister, that’s it. I’m sick of you and your attitude.” She called Autopsy and left a message, “You are rude. Do not come to my lab again. Send your samples by your assistant. Oh! I forgot. You don’t have one. She cried and took a transfer to Outer Bumfuck, Minnesota. Don’t come into my lab again. How you get samples to me is not my problem.” She slammed the phone down, mumbling, “I hate you. Seriously. I’m a’ declare a prank war.” And with that Abby settled in to remember every prank Tony had ever pulled on Tim and every prank she’d pulled in her wilder days. 

.

Leon Vance glared at the latest complaint from DCPD; his temporary ME had antagonized another lead detective from another precinct. This was the second this week and the fifth since he’d taken over. He forwarded it to the appropriate people, which included Human Resources, Personnel, and the Office of the Secretary of the Navy. This man was on his way out, no matter what anyone said. Vance was actually contemplating sending Dr. Palmer a personal email, asking him to return ASAP. He rubbed his face and snarled, “Last damn time I yield to political pressure from someone who has no idea. This is just bad all around.” He wondered in disgust how many cases had been compromised by Dr. Symons.

He wrote yet another letter of apology to the precinct captain, the Chief of Police, and the DCPD ME. After giving it to Cynthia to type up and mail, he helped himself to a very small whisky and water. He was due in MTAC in thirty for a conference with Rota, so it wouldn’t do for him to be even buzzed. He contemplated murder for a split second.

For her part, Cynthia was considering assault and battery. She had filled out form after form, written dozens of letters, all trying to spackle the cracks Dr. Symons was creating in the cooperation between departments. He’d even pissed off JAG. She scowled at the new list of people who had to be apologized to and went for coffee.

.

Dr. Osborn Symons the Third was not a happy man. He couldn’t understand why people didn’t just worship him as they should. Of course, he didn’t think exactly that, but that was the gist of his thoughts. He was disgusted that the ME in Chicago didn’t see his brilliance, annoyed that he was relegated to this third-class agency, and sure that all he had to do was put all these peasants in their place. 

He settled down at his desk, which he’d finally gotten just last night, and began to type out his latest reprimand. He was disgusted to see that what was appearing on his monitor was nothing like what he was typing. In fact, it was not even English at all. He growled and called IT to come up and fix it at once. He was assured that he’d be helped as soon as his name came to the top of the queue. He demanded someone be sent at once, but was told, in a snide tone, “Director Vance himself sent a memo that IT help, especially on site, was to be given in chronological order, to prevent claims of special treatment from the techs. I’m sure you understand.” The soft click of disconnect was more insulting than a slam.

He didn’t know, or care, that all it would take was a simple mouse click in a drop-down to change it from Hangul back to English. He’d wait four days for the tech to come do it, four days in which he got behind on his paperwork and received three messages from various departments demanding their results, paperwork, or other forms. He also got a formal reprimand.

.

Abby snickered into her Caf-Pow. She had called her friend Petty Officer Jones and asked if he knew where to find string crackers; he’d said that he would get her some. “Only need to know what caliber you want.” She’d asked for standard NATO 7.62x39. Jones had demanded, “Who do you hate that much?” She’d told him the whole story and laughed when he offered to smack the man around for her.

“No thanks. He’s too stupid to learn anything from it. I’ve declared a prank war on him. I’d leave it until Tony gets back from vacation, but I don’t want to wait that long. He’s cruisin’ for a bruisin’, an’ I’m gonna give it to him.” She hung up. She was very happy to get a box of the crackers the next day and surprised to realize that they were handmade, by Jones. The box contained fifty of them, and a note that said, “Still willing to smack him as needed.” She giggled a bit, then started trying to decide where to put each cracker and when to put it there.

After some thought, she decided on putting one in every empty drawer in the morgue; she wasn’t about to disrespect anyone by using any occupied ones. She also decided to booby-trap the lockers, all of them. And his “secret” stash of snacks, which he kept in Jimmy’s bottom desk drawer. Jimmy wouldn’t be happy when he got back. She also decided to do the drawers a few at a time and the lockers another time. Jimmy’s drawer she also put off until later. 

She was headed back for her lab when she had a sudden inspiration; grinning, she went up to the squad room and into the Gibbs team bullpen. It took her a moment to unlock Tony’s desk with a hair pin. As she was searching the desk, Vance’s voice made her jump.

“Dang it!” Abby gave him a hairy eyeball, then realized who she was glaring at. “Sorry, Mr Director.”

“I am too. I didn’t mean to startle you. Um ... exactly what are you doing in Special Agent DiNozzo’s desk?” His raised eyebrow said there’d better be a good reason she’d picked a locked desk and was now rummaging it.

“Oh ... um ... you know that rubber snake Tony has? The one he was throwing at everyone?” She grinned in remembrance. “Made Remy scream like a girl. Well, anyway. I remembered it and decided that I’d better ... um ... confiscate it. See? Before he gets himself jacked up by throwing it at the wrong person. He does tend to get carried away. You know?” Abby gave the director a hopeful look.

“I do.” Vance smirked at her around his toothpick. “Just be careful what you do with it. I wouldn’t want you to get shot at.” and with that, he ambled off humming to himself, barely concealing a smirk.

Abby blinked once then gazed after the director. “Wonder what he actually knows? Hmmm.” She found the snake and a half dozen stink bombs. “Well, well. Saves me the trouble of making them myself. Nice.” She gathered her booty, relocked the desk and trotted back to her office. She had plans to make, computers to booby-trap, and alibis to construct.

She wished that Ducky or Jimmy were here to help her with her alibi, but that would make this whole thing unnecessary—if Ducky were here, that was. Jimmy, on the other hand, would have to be restrained to keep him from committing mayhem or murder. 

After making sure that Dr. Obnoxious the Third wasn’t in the morgue, she carefully opened the top right drawer and used homemade snot dots to stick a cracker to the bottom of the desktop and the side of the drawer. She’d made the dots herself, and wore gloves to keep from leaving fingerprints in the sticky things. 

After planting her cracker, she also planted a remote camera that she’d liberated from Property, neatly avoiding the problems that she’d have trying to get something from any department with surveillance equipment. No paper trail, no questions, all good. 

Her trip back to her lab was accomplished via the stairs and a back hall. She snickered all the way. This was going to be brilliant.

.

Dr. Osborn Symons opened the empty drawer, then pissed himself as someone took a shot at him. He crawled from the drawer to the emergency alarm button and slapped at it, setting off half a dozen sirens, bells, and flashing lights. It only took a couple of minutes for a team to come running into the room, guns drawn. 

They found the doctor crouched underneath an autopsy table, whimpering in fear. He jumped a foot when they charged in, banging his head on the table which attracted the attention, and aim, of the group. 

He yelped and pointed to drawer 204. “There! There’s someone in there and they shot at me.”

The team lead carefully opened the door all the way. The dangling string with the remains of the cracker attached told its own story. The whole team dissolved into chuckles and began removing their gear. 

The team lead eyed Dr Symons for a moment then said, “I don’t know what you actually thought ... or if you thought at all. But the next time you call us out for a prank, I’m filing a formal complaint. And stop pissing people off.” He turned to order his men out.

“Well, I like that! Someone shoots at me and you jump me? I’ll thank you to at least give the room a thorough search.” He stood up. That was when he realized that his bladder had let loose. “Damn it!” He scurried away to clean up and change into the only scrubs he could find. Since they were a pair of Ducky’s very well-worn, sea-green ones, they were way too short and splotched with chemical stains. Since he’d pissed off the laundry deliveryman, it was all he had. The company had informed Vance that, since their replacement ME had called their deliveryman a “retard,” he wasn’t taking anything into Autopsy until Dr. Mallard was back. He dropped it off at the Evidence Garage door, and someone had to carry the bundle of towels, scrubs, and sheets to Autopsy. That someone had made sure that all Ducky’s good scrubs got tucked away in Evidence, leaving three sets of too-small, too-short, and very stained scrubs for Dr. Symons to use.

So, while Dr. Symons was changing, the team carefully opened each drawer, checked to make sure that it was occupied by a body, or empty, then closed it again. Abby hadn’t booby-trapped more than one. She was going to trap things one at a time and on an odd schedule so that “Dr. Jerk” wouldn’t get comfortable.

The team lead yelled, “All clear!” then took his team off to their bullpen, where they laughed their heads off, told everyone who had a second to listen, and said, “Spread the cheer.” It took about an hour for the story to be all over the building and half the rest of the Yard.

Abby got word from Sheryl from Accounting, who heard it from Dan in Human Resources, who got it from Mark in Evidence, who heard it from Jack, who was on the team. She nearly hurt herself, she laughed so hard. She could be heard giggling then saying, “Peed himself.” 

.

Leon Vance got a formal complaint from the doctor and another from the team lead. He filed the one from the response team and found out that his shredder was in good order with the other. He wasn’t going to worry about anything that came from that man, or that happened to him, as long as he retained life and limb. He absently wondered if he could get hold of some security-camera stills; he knew he was going to have to do a lot of fence-mending, and the stills might help with that. It took him several minutes to compose himself, as he kept snickering.

.

Abby tapped her fingernails on her keyboard, something that drove Tim nuts. She was trying to come up with something to do for the next day, until it was time to booby-trap Ozzy again. She sighed; she needed something really good. She distracted herself by flipping through some evidence she needed to fingerprint, as soon as they got a court order to allow her to open the already-opened briefcase. She noticed a credit card, and a lightbulb went off. It didn’t take her long to cancel all Dr. Symons’ credit cards. “That’ll fix him. For awhile. But still.” She smirked to herself; she’d reinstate them in a couple of days.

Abby went back to work on some evidence that required her attention right away. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a very unwelcome voice barked at her from the door.

“You! Girl! I’m going to lunch. If anyone wants me, call me.” Dr. Symons was sure that, this time, that stupid tech would get it right.

Abby pressed a hand to her chest and snarled, “Fuck that. You scare me out of a year’s growth, then get rude? Do not call me ‘girl.’ My name is Dr. Sciuto, and I’m not a tech, a personal assistant, or a secretary. Go. Away.” 

Symons snorted at her and stomped off. He did look silly in the too-small, very stained scrubs. Abby waited until she was sure he was gone, then hurried to Autopsy. She put a cracker in his locker and stole his clothing. After filling out all the proper bio-hazard paperwork, she dropped the urine stained clothing off at Evidence, announcing, “I got this out of Autopsy. Urine stained. I took appropriate samples. Be a doll and check it in for me?” 

The Evidence clerk was happy to do the check-in while Abby waited. She chattered happily about swabs and swatches and other evidence-type stuff. She cheerfully informed the clerk, “I didn’t take swatches, just swabs, so I might have to come back and do some cutting. Thanks. Bye.” and with that she returned to her lab to see what other misery she could inflict on the “good” doctor.

She checked for activity on the credit cards, saw that all of them had been accessed, all six of them. She snickered, then reinstated them.

.

“What do you mean you’ll need an alternate form of payment? I just paid all those cards off.” Dr. Symons was furious. He was hungry and annoyed; it had taken those yokels ten minutes and two tries to make his order right. He wanted his food. It took him a couple of minutes to rummage his pockets to find enough cash to pay. People behind him got loud in their complaints, but he ignored them. 

He settled down to eat and was firmly requested to either only take up his allotted space at the counter, or leave. He left, bitching all the way. The gossip about his attitude was all over NCIS before he got his meal finished. As he was leaving the small pocket park he’d been eating in, a security guard stopped him and ordered him to pick up his trash.

He started to argue but the guard fingered his Mace, so he picked up the mess and tossed it, cursing all the way. The guard snorted; he’d heard little old ladies who cursed worse.

Symons returned to his morgue and opened the locker to put his windbreaker away. He jerked the locker door open, and the explosion of the cracker, magnified by the enclosed space of the locker, sent him into hysterics again. This time he screamed like a girl and bolted down the hall and into the Evidence Garage. “Shots fired! Shots Fired! Call someone!” And with that, he scurried into the inner office and hid behind Department Head Sarah Moore.

She just walked away from him and sent her Senior Clerk Mark Adams to check things out. “Mark, be careful, but go see what happened.”

It only took Mark a few minutes to return with the remains of the cracker dangling from his fingers. “Cracker. Big one.” He tossed the string and mangled paper into the trash. “Someone doesn’t like him.”

Symons blew up. “You’re all on report. Your lack of respect is disgraceful. You don’t know who I am. I’ll have all your jobs. Someone go clear the Morgue. Now!”

Sarah just shrugged. “Report all you want. No one really cares. If you want your Morgue cleared, clear it yourself. My people have other things to do. And I’ll thank you not to scream in my Evidence Garage. Out! Go!” she shooed him out, flapping her hands at him as if he were a bothersome chicken; which, in a way, he was.

He went, bitching and grumbling all the way. It took him twenty minutes to build up the courage to open all the drawers to check for more crackers. There weren’t any, so he went back to paperwork. 

Only to find that, as he typed, his keyboard barked and swore at him. He called IT again but was told that, since he could actually get work done, he’d have to wait until all the people who couldn’t work were taken care of.

.

The scuttlebutt pumped out its usual fare with glee. Abby heard about the newest adventure of the fill-in ME from Sarah Moore herself. She smirked at Abby as she said, “I don’t know who has it in for that jackass and I don’t want to know. Plausible Deniability, you know? But, should that certain person need something from Evidence that won’t come back to bite me on the ass? She should just help herself and leave a computer-generated note on my personal monitor. A sticky would do fine.” And with that, she winked, then trotted out to deal with some arriving evidence.

Abby grinned after her and resolved to poke around in the evidence locker to see what she could find. 

One of her babies binged, and she scurried to check her results. She also decided that Senior Special Agent Carlson, who’d been pressuring her to fudge some results to support his current theory, needed a bit of attitude adjustment as well. Ten minutes later Agent Carlson’s keyboard also began to bark and swear.

.

A few days later, Abby was logging in some evidence from a car she’d gone over, when she heard one of the clerks snicker loudly. “What’s so funny?”

“We got in a huge box of crap from a stakeout hole, and it’s all sex toys. Really, who’s actually gonna use a blowup doll?” The clerk laughed again. “I’m just gonna log this in as assorted ... something. I am not putting sex toys in the log. Nope, nope, nope with a topping of oh, hell no.” The girl taped the box shut, wrote a number on one side, and scribbled in the log. She walked away with the box in hand and came back in seconds, empty handed. Abby got a quick peek at the log, memorized the number of the box and the location, then went back to her work.

When break time came, Abby made a quick trip back to Evidence, found the box, and extracted the item she wanted. She did a bit of fiddling, added a thing or two, then stashed the results away. She was going to give her tangos a bit of rest, let them relax a bit.

.

Director Leon Vance called the SecNav and said, “I don’t care if this idiot is some relative of yours or not. Once Ducky comes back, he’s gone. He’s managed to alienate every Division Commander in the city, the CO of Quantico, the acting CO of the Marine contingent there, and most of NCIS. Miss Sciuto refuses to have him in her lab; he keeps calling her a tech. And no one will run samples from him to anywhere.”

The SecNav sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. If I’d known what was actually going on, I’d have told my cousin, his mother, no way. But she cried. I swear, women who cry don’t play fair.”

Leon, who was well aware that tears from a woman turned even the strongest men into fools, just replied, “Well, you tried; I tried. He failed. I just hope the resident pranksters don’t do him a permanent mischief. Good day.” He disconnected, then settled back in his chair to read the latest flurry of reprimands and complaints generated by Dr. Symons’ presence in his kingdom. His shredder worked very well.

.

Abby dialed Tony. “Tony, how do you make a shaped charge that will explode in all directions? I can make a directional one, but I want a good splatter pattern with the paint.”

Tony’s voice came back to her. “A … what the ... hell? Abby? What are you up to?”

Abby managed to reply with that awful politeness that meant she was on the verge of some sort of explosion. “An all-directional shaped charge. I need to know how to make one. Not real big, I don’t want to damage the locker ... or whatever. But ... tell.”

Tony obviously banged his phone against his forehead a couple of times. “I do not want to know.” Then he explained very carefully how to make it, ending, “And don’t use more than a pea-sized lump. Got me?”

“I do. I’ll weigh it out ... 3 grams?” 

Abby hung up on Tony who just closed his phone moaning, “I do. Not. Want. To. Know. Seriously. just nope times ten.”

.

Abby settled at her computer. She missed the Pod so much. She grumbled, “None of you are allowed to go anywhere for the next few months. Anywhere. Without me, at least.” She sent email to everyone, then settled down to wait for her babies to talk to her. She had every machine she had command of busy. “And you’re not allowed to leave me with inexperienced ME’s and a ton of bodies. And cyber crimes. And ... and ...” she sniffled. “I miss you guys.” 

She wondered why it was that she missed them when they were gone but she didn’t miss them when she was gone. Not this much, at any rate. 

Several machines dinged at the same time, so she hurried to record results, compose interoffice emails, and attach her results. It took her nearly an hour to get it all organized and sent off. Then she had another round of lab work to get into the appropriate machine. She eyed the sink full of dirty lab glass with disgust. Jimmy usually helped her with it, or, if he couldn’t, one of the SEALs would. Dean was especially good at it. 

Another sigh brought a voice from the door. “And what was that heavy sigh for?” Director Vance stepped into the lab.

“Oh! Holy ... I’m putting bells on all of you, I swear.” Abby grinned at Vance. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, Dr. Sciuto, you can. I just have one thing to say to you: No C-4 in the building. No.” He gave her the same look he gave Kayla when she was bound and determined to do something foolish. “I mean it.” He then presented her with a jumbo Caf-Pow, smiled, and left.

Abby yelled after him, “Okay. No C-4. Party pooper! Thanks for the Caf-Pow.” She took a hefty pull off the straw and began to figure out how to make her paint bomb without C-4. Perhaps just a pull string with a detonator attached. 

.

Osborn, who hated being called Ozzy, as he was not a rock musician, settled at his desk and looked for “his” tea kettle; he needed coffee badly. He had his own grind, which he kept in a special canister in his desk, along with the drip maker that fit on top of its own special cup. The kettle was missing, again. He’d had to go look for it twice now. Miss Sciuto had had it in her office. He got up to go look for it again. 

He found it in the break room on the Lab floor, plugged in but empty. He snatched it up, never noticing that it was plastic, while the one Ducky had brought in was stainless steel. He took it back to his office and poured water into it. As it heated he prepared his coffee maker, putting the paper filter and measure of coffee into the ceramic cone and placing the cone on its cup. When the water boiled, he poured it over the grounds and waited. The coffee done and sugar added, he took a healthy gulp. He nearly choked, spit the coffee back into the cup and snarled. Someone had exchanged salt for his sugar, and the cup was ruined. 

He poured the coffee down the hand sink, something he’d been told a dozen times not to do, and rinsed out the mug, filter cone, and sugar container. “Damn it. Someone is going to pay.” He settled at his computer to send a complaint to Vance, but nearly had a tantrum when he realized that his keyboard, in addition to barking and swearing, was now typing Cyrillic. He swore too, which was picked up on the hidden surveillance camera and sent directly to one of Abby’s computers.

Abby quietly had a snicker fit.

.

Senior Special Agent Carlson opened his locker to get out his sweats. He jumped back as something surged out of the locker and straight into his face. He yelped and punched it.

Someone yelled over the not-so-stifled laughter, “Hey, Carlo, is that any way to treat your date? Seriously?”

Hamish Carlson eyed the blow-up doll then said, “Nope. Come get your sister.”

There was more catcalling and laughter over that. One of the clean-up crew just ambled over, stabbed the doll with his pocket knife, rolled it up into a messy ball, and walked away with it. All the crews were used to this sort of thing and took it in stride, only complaining when the prank was especially messy and hard to clean up. They really, really hated confetti.

Carlson shoved his clothing into the locker, changed into sweats, and left the gym. No one asked him where he was going; they all knew.

“Miss Abby? You need something done?” Carlson gave her a hopeful look.

Abby examined him for a moment. “You all over being a dick?”

“Yeah. Rectocraniectomy was successful. And ... um ... sorry.” 

Abby gave him one of her especially brilliant smiles, pointed to the sink, and said, “I’d really like that washed. You know how?”

“No, but I learn quick.” He went to the sink, listened carefully to Abby’s directions, and earned her goodwill back by doing an excellent job. He also sent her a bunch of Dark Angel tulips. Abby especially appreciated that; everyone else just gave her roses. Not that she didn’t like the roses, but the tulips proved that he’d put some thought into his present.

She kept the tulips on her desk until they were drooping and dropping petals.

.

The next three days were a misery to Dr. Symons; every door he opened seemed to explode, slam shut due to being bungeed to the wall, or refuse to open. His keyboard barked, swore, typed wingdings, or glued itself into uselessness. He was so jumpy that, when the IT tech came to check his computer, he screamed like a girl.

The tech just mumbled, “Sorry. I’ll just check to see what’s going on with this. Only take a sec.” He sat down at the computer and began his checks. He left that computer to run and went to check on the other two computers in the office, only to find that they were gone. “Um ... you’re supposed to have two more computers. Right?” His puzzled expression set Symons off again.

“I was. But ... as I’m the only permanent member of the department ... someone, in their infinite wisdom, took them. No idea where. And one of them had files that I need.”

Jason eyed the ME for a moment, then shrugged. “No idea. I’m just a tech. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong and get out of your hair.” He returned to the computer and checked his results. There was actually nothing wrong with the computer, no bugs, viruses, trojans, keystroke loggers, or other malware. He changed the font to Arial, and closed down his program. He pocketed his flash drive and stood up. “Ok. All fixed.” He got out before the idiot could drown him in a barrage of questions and prayed that he didn’t manage to change his font to something weird again.

He got out just in time as Symons opened a cabinet he had never opened before. The stink bomb that went off with a loud crack filled Autopsy with a cloud of noxious yellow smoke and set off the biohazard alarm. Symons ran for the biohazard shower and jumped in, clothing and all.

This led to him having to wear another set of too-short, too-small scrubs. He also shot off another flurry of complaints and reprimands, as he wasn’t pleased with the way the biohazard team treated him. He thought that the whole team should have taken their helmets off the second they started talking to him. 

.

Abby thought she’d pranked Symons enough for now, and in order to put him off guard, she wondered if she shouldn’t give him something. Perhaps a Caf-Pow. She nodded to herself and trotted off to get herself one and one for her tango. She absently wondered if he’d like fruit punch, her favorite, or cola, or grape.

She finally decided on cola, as everyone seemed to like that. She paid for her Jumbo Gulp and a regular cola, nodded to the server, and hurried back to NCIS; she had tests coming due any moment.

It only took a couple of minutes to drop the cola Caf-Pow off ―she actually handed it right to Symons with a straight face― and get back to her lab just in time for a flurry of bings, dings, and honks to go off. She took a pull of her drink and went back to work. She knew that Vance was going to get on her; this was her third Caf-Pow of the day, and she was only supposed to have two. She got a little nuts if she had too much.

She decided to put the rest of this cup in the fridge for later. 

After tucking her drink safely away in the “clean” side of the fridge, she returned to recording her results and cataloging them in her computer files. She also generated the paper reports that had to be sent to the teams and the archives. 

.

Dr Symons eyed the cup of soda that Abby had given him, smiled, and mumbled, “It’s about time she realized that she’s my subordinate.” He sipped at the cola, frowned at the slightly bitter aftertaste, but took it back to his desk to drink while he worked.

As he worked he drank; the more he drank, the more he wanted. He realized his cup was empty, so he got up and went out to the break room. After asking around for a bit, he found that Caf-Pow was only available in a small strip mall nearby. The Caf-Pow was in a mini-mart at one end, while the coffee shop was at the other. The mall also had a restaurant and a couple of other small stores.

He decided to get himself a sandwich and another Caf-Pow. He got a tuna salad on rye with extra mayo and a cola Big Gulp Caf-Pow. He took a seat at a tall table for two and settled in to eat. He didn’t realize that he was jigging his foot as he did so.

When he finished eating, he gathered up his trash, remembering his run-in with the security guard. After balling the trash into a tight ball, he tried to dunk it in the trash can, but missed. A boy of about fifteen snatched it up and did the job, smirking a bit when he called, “Nothing but net,” then trotted off to rejoin his buddies.

Symons nodded to him and scurried off to go back to his office, carrying his refilled Caf-Pow with him.

He settled at his desk, glad that his computer was cooperating for once, then the printer started spitting out sheet after sheet of paper. At first he thought it was printing out a remote report for him, then he realized that it was printing nonsense. He snarled and unplugged it. He took a fortifying gulp of his drink and called IT, again, and told them, again, that his equipment was acting up. He was told, again, that he would be put into the queue and seen to in turn. He snarled, slammed the phone down, and wondered what he could do until his next autopsy. It never occurred to him that everything worked perfectly when he had an autopsy, or reports were needed in a current investigation.

He paced restlessly for a few minutes, then decided that, as no one else was doing it to suit him, he’d clean the whole morgue. He spent the rest of the day running people out of the morgue for tracking his newly mopped floor, washing down unoccupied drawers, and detailing the whole morgue, ME’s office, and side rooms, including Jimmy’s tiny office space.

He overslept the next morning and woke up with a caffeine and too-much-sleep hangover. He was late to work by nearly an hour. It didn’t really matter, as there wasn’t an ongoing autopsy, but Vance reamed him out anyway. He retreated to his office/sanctuary in a sulk and tried to work, but his hands were shaking so hard that everything he tried to type turned into gibberish. 

.

Abby snickered into her first Caf-Pow. She had promised Vance that she wouldn’t have more than two a day. She was keeping her word, but the store had instituted a new cup size. She’d been drinking the Large Gulp; now she was drinking the Double Jumbo Gulp. She smirked a bit as, by her calculations, two Double Jumbo Gulps equaled six Large Gulps or just about what she’d been drinking before her promise. If he didn’t specify in ounces, it wasn’t her fault.

She picked up her clipboard and began the startup procedures for her babies. She sighed and wished that people understood that these machines needed to warm up; you couldn’t just barge in and start doing things. She clicked this, punched that, primed something else, and started setting out her first set of tests. 

As she lined up her test tubes, pipettes, petri dishes, and slides she also planned out what tests to do first. She always tried to do as many of the same tests as she could at one time. That way she wasn’t preparing the same test over and over. The only thing was to keep everything labeled properly and avoid cross-contamination. That was one of the reasons she was so picky about people touching things, bringing food and drink into the main lab, or smoking in the lab. That one really set her off, as the smoke got into things and contaminated anything it got near.

She got her first round of tests set up, started, and logged in. After making sure all her tests were started properly, she settled in to text Tony, McGee, and Remy—Tony because she was missing him like crazy, and she wanted to ask him how to do something; McGee because she wanted to know where he’d hidden a program; and Remy because he had the best gossip. She spent the next hour, while she waited for results, texting the three men, happily occupying wasted time with a bit of fun.

She wasn’t best pleased when Director Vance tapped on her door and demanded, “Is this how you spend your time? Texting and playing games?”

She frowned for a moment then said, with considerable mildness, “Well, yeah. I’ve got all my paperwork up to date, I’ve got the first run of tests started, and the lab, fridges, and work spaces are all clean… as is all the glassware. So ... what does Dr. Nosy-Parker-I’m-too-good-for-this Symons think I should be doing? Perhaps worshiping at the altar of his so-called greatness? Or do you want to find something ... something within my job classification ... for me to do?”

As a man who’d been married for over 20 years, Leon Vance knew when he’d stepped into it. “I see. I apologize. And it wasn’t Symons who said something.” He frowned. “But I’m wondering who lit a fire under the person who did.” He turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Again, I apologize. Go back to what you were doing. Tell Gibbs ... never mind.” He went to find out who had sent in the complaint and why. HR explained that the complaint had come from Symons and would have been ignored, except for the fact that they had a young thing who was determined to set the world on fire, but usually just wound up stepping in things best left alone.

This generated another reprimand in Symons’ jacket. Vance eyed the nearly half-inch-thick file and snarled to himself.

.

Abby finished her third set of tests and third Caf-Pow of the day, started another set of tests, and decided to go to the break room for a snack. When she got there, she found two of her friends from Evidence sitting at the main table. They were both looking unhappy, so Abby asked, “Hey! Why the long faces? You don’t look happy.”

Melanie shrugged. “We’re not. Someone’s been eating all the lunches. I mean ... most of them. Mine’s gone. So’s Janice’s. And other people have been missing food too.”

Janice nodded. “And it’s a real pain. I’m hungry, and I don’t have any money with me, so I can’t get anything. Beside the fact that I don’t want to eat junk. I had some nice carrot sticks.”

Abby frowned, then said, “Spread the word not to mess with the food in the purple containers.” Both ladies agreed and trotted out to spread the word. Not that it was really necessary, as no one ever bothered anyone else’s food.

The next day Abby arrived with a couple of containers, one purple with a clear lid and the other clear with a purple lid. One contained chicken salad laced with a laxative, and the other was dip and veggies, which contained an emetic. She had been very careful to only mix in enough to make the offender have two or three “incidents,” but not enough to do him any harm. She based her calculations on the most probable identity of the offender. She hoped this would teach her tango something; she doubted that it would.

She checked back just before one and found both containers in the sink. That was one thing; at least he didn’t toss the containers in the trash. He didn’t see any need to hide what he was doing. Abby wasn’t sure he even realized that it was wrong.

.

The scuttlebutt about Symons’ latest faux pas ran through NCIS at about the same speed that the pranked food ran through his system. He spent most of the afternoon alternately sitting on the porcelain throne, then hugging it. 

Abby leaned against the wall outside the ladies’ room on her floor. This floor didn’t have many people on it, so each facility only had two stalls and a single sink. She wasn’t sure but what the men’s had one stall, a urinal, and a sink. All she cared about was the conversation between two of the security guards.

“I’m not goin’ in there and try to haul his ass out. He’s pukin’ again.” Abby thought the speaker resembled Mr. T with a high-and-tight. 

The other guard was shorter and blond; Abby thought he looked a lot like Tim with a bleach job. He was just as disgusted as Mr. T. He shook his head and announced, “I’m not tryin’ to drag him out either. He ... um ... messed himself before he got to the john. Not dealin’ with biohazards, bodily waste, and all that. Not in my job description.”

“So what do we do? Can’t leave him in there.”

Abby perked up. “You come to my lab. I’ll give you some gloves. You get him to the biohazard shower, and I’ll find him some scrubs. Okay?” She gave them a bright smile, then led the way.

“Here you go. Double? You think?” She gave each man two pair of the gloves she kept in a filing cabinet for her “boys.” “Just go get him and haul him to the shower. I’ll find some scrubs and be right there.”

Mr. T and Not-McGee accepted the gloves. Mr. T asked, “And what do we do with his clothing?”

“It’s contaminated with who-knows-what. If it was me, I’d put it in the incinerator. Do not touch anything with bare hands until he showers. I’ll get going.” She waved her hands in a shooing motion, then trotted off to find scrubs.

While the two security guards dragged the doctor out of the men’s room and down the hall to the showers, Abby happily scurried to the supply closet to get scrubs. She just grabbed the nearest pants and shirt, never mind that they might not fit. 

Mr. T said, “Okay, Doc, let’s get you up. Come on.”

Symons whined but got up. “I don’t feel so good. What happened?”

Not-McGee opined, “You ate someone else’s lunch and made yourself sick. They probably left it out on the counter overnight without thinking about it. You need to only eat your own stuff. Up you get.”

The two men dragged the doctor off the floor and helped him to the shower. He moaned and bitched the whole way. His main two complaints were, “I didn’t think anyone would bring something that’d make me sick. What’s wrong with those people? I’m sick…” and, “Don’t be so rough; I’ll puke again.”

Neither man felt sorry for him. If he’d kept his hands off other people’s food, he’d have been fine. So they stripped him off, stuffed him into the shower with the order to, “Scrub and use lots of soap,” then Not-McGee gingerly picked up the now wet, stinking clothing and shoved it into the incinerator next to the shower. He slapped the activate button then stepped back. 

Abby showed up just then with a rather ratty wool blanket to use as a towel and an armful of scrubs. “Here we go. I couldn’t find a nice towel but this’ll do and here’s some scrubs.” She handed the loot to Not-McGee and hurried off, calling over her shoulder, “I’m off. Not in the mood to see his dangly bits or whatnot. If you need something else, give me a call. You might also give him some ginger ale ... settle his tummy.” She cut off any further remarks by popping back into her lab, which was just down the hall from the shower.

She had to lean against the wall of her tiny office, as she was snickering so hard her balance was off. She didn’t even feel sorry for the jerk; several of the people whose lunches he’d taken had gone hungry, as they couldn’t afford to get anything from the machines or go out for something. He’d be okay in about an hour; she’d carefully calculated the dose and was sure. She didn’t want to make him really sick or actually hurt him, she just wanted him to think. She wasn’t really sure it would work, but it couldn’t hurt to try. 

She wasn’t that surprised when Vance called to tell her that she wasn’t to pull such tricks again, as the possibility of catching the wrong fish was real. She agreed to that, especially when Vance reminded her that someone lighter than her target, or in ill health, could get really sick. She apologized for wasting his time on this sort of thing, then went to planning her next attack. 

She knew that, when the Pod got back, she was going to have to change her methods, but that wasn’t for another ten days. She was counting.

 

[xx chapter division]  
.

Gibbs frowned at his phone. Abby had accidentally sent him a text asking if he knew how to set a string trap. Since it was something every military asset learned in training, he did. He just wasn’t sure he should tell her how to set one in a modern setting. He eyed his phone for a moment then decided against it. He mumbled, “I do not want to know. Seriously. Explosives? Ipecac syrup? Who was stupid enough to piss her off that much?”

Tim answered that as Gibbs hadn’t kept his voice down as much as he thought. “Symons. She’s declared a prank war on him. She can get downright vicious if she feels like she’s been insulted. And in this case, she has. Symons insists on calling her a tech ... and treating her like his very own. Not a happy bunny.”

Gibbs just sighed. “We need to get back to DC soon. She’ll just escalate until he either runs or goes nuts.”

Tony frowned. “Well, he should act like he’s got some sense.”

Remy nodded. “He should do. You remember that jackwad from Annapolis that thought he was God’s Gift?” He grinned in remembrance then frowned. “Wasn’t so bad until he got that kid killed from being a dick. Then everyone in the unit pranked him until he went mental and got sent Stateside on a warrant.”

Tony nodded. “He was even scared to take a shit. Latrine exploded on him on a regular basis. Gas buildup.” His expression said it was anything but.

Gibbs sighed. “I just hope Abby doesn’t mess him up.” He then went back to what he was doing, putting worries about Abby aside for later.

.

Abby decided on one last flurry of pranks, then a rest of at least three days. She wondered what she should do; pranking his computer was getting old, and he was so gun-shy of doors, drawers, and file cabinets that he cringed every time he opened one. One of the senior IT techs had flatly told her that gluing keyboards wasn’t on. So what to do?

She decided to check out his car. She knew which one it was, but could she hack it? 

It turned out that she could, as he was driving one of those “green” electric things. And where did he think all that electricity came from? Coal-powered plants, that’s where.

She fiddled the onboard computer to make it start only when the lights were on and the horn had been honked. She wondered if he’d figure it out, then decided to put the instructions into the onboard computer and have them show up on the data screen after the third try. 

She also hid a stink bomb in the back, then moved his briefcase so that he could only reach it by opening the back hatch.

.

Dr. Symons opened his car door, after checking carefully for any wires, strings, or oddness. He settled in the driver’s seat and tried to start the motor. Nothing happened, so he tried again. He was distracted from his cursing by a cheerful bleeping from the onboard computer mounted in the dashboard. He read the instructions, obediently turned the lights on, honked the horn, and tried again. He relaxed with a sigh as the motor obediently hummed to life. 

The drive home frayed his nerves; no one seemed to realize that he was an important person, so he was forever dodging huge trucks, semis, and other non-entities. What he didn’t realize, and didn’t care about, was the fact that his habit of driving five miles an hour under the speed limit made him a moving road hazard. He was constantly in the wrong lane too.

He finally managed to get home to his Georgetown brownstone, pulled into his parking spot, and got out. He grumbled as he realized that his briefcase had somehow managed to wind up in the back. The stench that was released made him back up, slam the hatch and scurry inside, swearing all the way. 

He was to find out that the smell lingered for days, no matter what he sprayed into the car. Nor how long he left the doors open in the parking garage. 

He was beginning to think that people didn’t like him much.

.

Dean eyed his phone with a rather disturbed expression. “That woman is a fiend. Seriously. She’s ... evil.”

She wanted to know the best way to put someone off guard. Her prank war was beginning to desensitize her target. He sent back a text to tell Abby to lay off for at least four days.

He then went back to reading files.

.

Ducky eyed the email with some concern. His contact in DCPD was livid. He stated that Symons had managed to alienate every district commander in the DC area and most of the MEs, MEs’ assistants, Forensic Techs, and almost anyone else he’d come in contact with. It was a bit alarming that most of the LEOs in DC had refused to work with him.

He decided that he’d text Abby and Vance to find out how bad it actually was. He got a stream of invective from Vance and a plea from Abby to hurry home. He contemplated cutting his vacation short, then decided against it. The SecNav had forced that wanker on NCIS; he could just deal with the fallout. He did, however, feel a bit sorry for Vance; he hadn’t had any say in the decision. He applauded the decision of the Pod to take off early. It meant that he’d get back home before they did.

He sighed, checked his schedule, and realized that he had to hurry or he’d be late to his next presentation, and that wouldn’t do at all. It wasn’t polite for the presenter to be late to his own presentation. He was a bit glad that this was his last one. After it, he was going on a bit of a ramble through Scotland. He’d decided against hiring a driver and car; he was going to buy a BritRail pass, which would be good all over the UK. He was looking very much forward to his trip.

.

Abby checked her office; nothing was out of place. She sighed. She’d had the sudden worry that she’d left a prank out in the open. She knew that Vance knew what she was doing, but official recognition would bring trouble. She didn’t need problems with management, not that she was worried, but still. She settled at her desk to check emails and do several job-related searches.

It was nearly two hours later that her lab door banged against the wall and Symons stormed in. She eyed him for a moment, hand hovering over the panic button on her desk. But, it seemed, he only needed some place to unload in.

He paced back and forth in between the lab table and the bank of computers, grumbling to himself.

“This is unacceptable. Totally unacceptable. These people are, without a doubt, the most ... annoying bunch of retarded wastes of skin in the world. They don’t know who they’re dealing with. I’ll have their jobs. I’ll black list them all over. They’ll be flipping burgers in Bumfuck Egypt after I’m done with them.” He stalked to the door of Abby’s office and demanded, “And you ... you get back to work before I tell Vance.” He nodded his head once, as if he had accomplished something, then stormed back to the door. “And get your tests done on time.” With that, he was out the door, leaving Abby open mouthed and baffled. 

“What the actual fuck? That man is a menace to mental health and emotional stability. And I’m gonna prank the fuck out of him.” Abby banged around a bit, looking for she wasn’t sure what.

She was distracted from her fuming by her lab door opening again. This time it was one of the Evidence clerks. She was bringing Abby a container full of things to test. She also looked like she wasn’t really happy.

“Abby, that ... that ... man. I swear if I wasn’t a lady I’d ... kick him somewhere soft.” She put the tote down on Abby’s work table and sighed. “I wish Dr. Mallard would get back soon.”

“Symons again?” The clerk nodded. “I am so totally tired of that man. If he was to catch on fire, I wouldn’t spit on him. What’d he do?”

“Just came in, demanded someone to come take a bunch of samples to the other lab, then told us we were all idiots and when he’s ME, he’ll have our jobs. If I wasn’t a lady, I’d swear.”

“You already did.” Abby waited for the woman to make the connection.

“I ... oh, you.” She grinned, swatted Abby on the arm and left, giggling.

Abby dipped into the tote and began another series of tests while she planned the next round of pranks. Perhaps something with itching powder.

.

Dr. Symons glared around the Morgue. He knew he was responsible for getting all the bio-waste into the bags and up to the incinerator, but he didn’t see why he had to do it. It wasn’t a proper job for a Medical Examiner; that was a job for some peon. He considered demanding that Housekeeping do it. He wondered why he didn’t have an assistant. He never realized that his attitude had run Jimmy off, and every other person who could have filled the job. No one wanted to put up with his self-entitled, arrogant attitude and total lack of respect for anyone who wasn’t him. 

He grumbled, contacted Director Vance’s secretary, and demanded someone to come down and clean the Morgue. He had three bodies on the way and needed some sort of help.

He got put on hold for thirty minutes while Cynthia consulted with Director Vance. They decided to send the bodies to DCPD as Vance was actually afraid that any evidence collected by Symons would be corrupted and suspect. He didn’t want to lose a case because Symons screwed it up. 

Cynthia suggested that Vance get hold of Dr. Palmer and beg him to come back. She thought that just putting Symons on temporary suspension while his creds were rechecked would do the trick.

Vance thought about it, then said, “I wonder where they are. Their vacation is nearly over. McGee is healing well, and they’re investigating the assault in cooperation with the local LEOs. I’ll send Gibbs and Palmer a text.” He frowned at his mangled toothpick. “I’ll even grovel ... within reason.”

.

Dr. James Palmer eyed the text on his phone with a very jaundiced eye. They’d stopped for the night in some Podunk town in, he eyed the room, he wasn’t even sure what state. Tim was doing the navigating, and everyone else just followed his directions. 

He heard Gibbs swearing in the common room of their suite and realized that he’d gotten the same text. 

“Jet! Can it. What do you want to do?” Jimmy waited while Gibbs thought.

“Vance can deal. We could be back in DC in about twelve hours, if we rode hard and didn’t stop. But ... he knuckled in to SecNav, and I’m not fishin’ his chestnuts out of the fire. He wants to suck up, he can just suffer when he gets a mouthful of shit. We’ll get back when we get there.” Gibbs wasn’t happy about pushing too hard; McGee was looking tired, and they didn’t need him having a relapse or something.

Now that the case was over, they were going to take it easy on the way back home.

So they dumped the whole mess in Tim’s electronic lap and let him deal; which he did by sending Vance an email detailing all the reasons that they would be at least three days on the road and to expect them back in four. 

Leon Vance eyed the email with disgust, but didn’t do anything; they were actually saying that they’d be back two days early. They’d taken three weeks, spent two of them, and were taking five days to return. No matter how he did the math, there was no way they could make it back any faster, without doing things that they shouldn’t.

.

Abby grinned at Hank. She’d run into him in the break room, where she’d gone in search of something sweet. “Gimme. I gave you my dollar; share.” She’d given him her dollar when they’d realized that neither one of them had enough by themselves to get anything; the company had doubled the prices on everything without notice. 

Hank chuckled and broke the candy bar exactly in half. He handed her her piece, took a bite of his, then mumbled around the caramel, “You hear about Psycho Symons’ latest?”

“No! Tell!” Abby nibbled on her candy, hoping to make it last just a bit longer.

“He flipped his shit. Vance sent three bodies to DCPD because the Morgue is in such filthy condition that he was afraid the evidence would be compromised. He even called Dr. Palmer to see if he could get back early. Symons found out and threw a tantrum. If my kid acted like that I’d blister her. Thank God she’s a good kid. No trouble to speak of. But ... she’s only eight. Can’t wait until she’s in her teens.” His expression said exactly the opposite. 

Abby went “Aw!” over the picture he showed, then shrugged. “His parents must have had a time with him ... or not. Maybe he’s the way he is because his parents neglected him. Or he’s just a dyed-in-the-wool jerk.”

“I’m in favor of the second. But ... got to go. I’ve got escort duty, and Vance is on the move in ten. See you.” Hank finished the last bite of his candy, grabbed his filled go-cup, and trotted out the door.

Abby sighed. “I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But ... I will.” 

She set about her mission with a frown. She was just tired of the idiot and wanted him gone. She was the nicest person… until she wasn’t. NCIS cringed at the words, “Abby’s pissed.” She was actually the person who could kill you, get rid of your body and leave no forensic evidence. She could also prank the hell out of you and never get caught.

Vance had suspicions, of course, but he couldn’t prove anything… not that he wanted to.

.

The next three days saw Symons ready to tear his expensive plugs out by the roots.

The first thing that happened was so weird. The private head behind his office exploded when he flushed, giving him a faceful of what was politely referred to as “grey water.” He’d used the biohazard shower to clean up, then found that it had unexpectedly dyed him blue. He realized that he now looked like a Smurf. And, as usual, the scrubs were the wrong size. This time, they were way too large. He’d rolled the legs up three times and the waistband down twice and they still dragged the floor. He’d mumbled that they’d have swamped a Wookiee. 

Abby snickered in her office; Dean had carefully explained exactly how to inject compressed air into the pipe so that she wouldn’t damage the pipes or hurt herself. The air had happily stayed in the pipe until the change in pressure caused by flushing had forced it back out. Getting the dye into the shower had been easy; all she’d had to do was unscrew the head, dump in the dye, and put it back on.

After he got dried off and calmed down, he decided to start cleaning the morgue. Vance had been clear that the Biohazard Team were not Housekeeping, and Housekeeping didn’t deal with that sort of mess. They’d come in and mop the floors and wipe down the walls after he dealt with the pile of disposable masks, dropped gloves, and other soiled disposable waste. 

He found a cleaning cart conveniently placed in the morgue so he donned a pair of yellow gloves and started picking up mess and stuffing it into the also-provided black plastic bags. 

He spent nearly three hours bagging up his mess, bitching all the way. He was firmly of the opinion that no one of his status should have to lift a finger to clean anything, anytime, anywhere. Never mind that Ducky and Jimmy cleaned the Morgue themselves so that Housekeeping didn’t have to see the bodies and organs.

Abby overheard and wondered what his house looked like, then decided that he had a gardener and a cleaning service, and ate out. She shook her head and went back to scheming. She wondered if she should feel bad about her resolution to drive Symons out of NCIS, but finding one of the secretarial-pool girls crying in the ladies’ room because Symons had bitched her out, firmed her resolve.

She comforted the girl and suggested that she tell all her friends to refuse to work with him because he was a sexist pig. And, since this was actually true and against NCIS regulations, report him to Human Resources.

.

The Secretary of The Navy eyed his wife with a bit of disfavor. She smiled serenely back. “Something wrong?”

“Your cousin, or whatever he is, Symons, is causing a lot of trouble at NCIS. Leon Vance has called four times. Otto ...” he waved a hand, “or whatever his name is, isn’t going to make it. He’s alienated everyone he works with. Someone has declared a prank war on him. If he fails his ninety, he’s out, and not a thing I can do about it. And, since he’s managed to piss off most of DCPD, he won’t.” He eyed his wife carefully.

“Well, I didn’t have much hope. I’ve heard things ... you know how political wives gossip ... but I did want to give him a chance. His mother introduced us, after all. But, if he doesn’t make it, he doesn’t. Don’t worry about it.” She pushed a plate of pastries in his direction. “Have a danish, dear.”

SecNav sighed to himself; this had gone a great deal better than he’d expected. “Thank you.” He resolved to forget what’s-his-name.

.

Dr. Symons was convinced that someone was trying to drive him crazy, kill him, or discredit him, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. He knew he was on thin ice in the whole community, but he wasn’t sure why. This prank war was driving him to the edge of sanity, and he didn’t know how to combat the infantile pranks. None of them had been dangerous, just startling and annoying. Since he had no sense of humor at all, he couldn’t imagine laughing, shrugging it off, and making amends.

He pulled a drawer open and nearly screamed as a Can-o-Worms popped open in his face. The worms were made of springs and cloth, so they weren’t dangerous, but they scared the shit out of him and gave him the shakes, again.

He called security and was told that, as they weren’t live, and therefore dangerous, it wasn’t their responsibility to deal with them. Housekeeping said that they didn’t clean up that sort of thing, so he should just bag them. 

He went to the supply closet to get a bag and did scream as a talcum powder bomb exploded when he opened the door and covered him with aggressively rose-scented powder. He slapped as much as he could out of his clothing, then grabbed the device and a bag. He bagged up the evidence then tossed the whole thing into the incinerator and returned to try to sweep up the powder, smearing it all over the floors instead.

He retreated to his office, cursed when he realized that he still didn’t have the coffee pot he’d requisitioned, and flopped down in his chair… which promptly wheezed and settled at its lowest setting. He decided that his best option was to storm into Vance’s office and have a screaming fit at Cynthia. She eyed him while he ranted and raved. She decided that he wasn’t going to try to hit her, so she just nodded once in a while and let him have his tantrum. 

Director Vance stormed out of his office and bellowed, “Shut the fuck up, you dumbass!” He calmed down a bit, took a deep breath and continued, “I don’t know how you were allowed to behave in Chicago but here, you don’t act like a three-year-old who needs a nap. You’re getting another writeup. Cynthia? See to it please.” He turned back to Symons and snarled, “Get the fuck out of my office, and don’t come back. If I hadn’t promised the SecNav you’d have ninety days, I’d kick you out now. And give you a general GOMAR. You’re a real WOMBAT if not a total BDU. Now get the fuck out of my office.” He took a deep breath then added, “And leave the women alone. I’ve got six complaints of sexual harassment against you.”

Symons had no idea what a WOMBAT was, or a BDU, so he asked Cynthia. She was happy to inform him that he was a waste of money, brains and time and a brain-dead user, as well as a sexist waste of space. She also told him flatly to FOADIAF, pronouncing it fo-add-eye-af. He left.

.

Vance gave up. He called Ducky.

“Dr. Mallard. I hope ... I forgot to check the time difference. Damn it.” He sighed and waited.

“That is perfectly all right. It’s 1900 here. Dinner time. What can I do for you?” Ducky had a good idea what, but Vance was going to have to ask.

“Could you please come home? That nutjob Symons has everything CATFU. DCPD ... don’t even ask. Just come home. Okay?” Vance knew he was pleading and didn’t care.

Ducky sighed. He had thought to spend another week, but, if Vance was using that tone of voice, he’d go. “Very well. I’ll leave first thing in the morning; it’ll take that long to make connections.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret this.” Vance wasn’t even going to worry about how Ducky was going to handle Symons. He could shoot him for all he cared.

Ducky, for his part, had realized that he’d seen and done everything he really wanted to do and see. He was contemplating another eight days of vacation with a decidedly unhappy attitude. He called the front desk and told them to make his arrangements, then began to pack.

He made arrangements to have his luggage picked up and checked through for him. He kept his carry-on and briefcase to carry himself; finally he left a message at the concierge’s desk to wake him up at 0700 so he could have a last fry-up before boarding his plane for home.

.

Director Vance put off calling Gibbs until late afternoon. He wasn’t going to be pleased about all this, but needs must. 

“Gibbs. Vance here. You need to get back to DC ASAP; Abby’s declared a prank war on Symons. I can’t prove it but ... she’s the only one I know who could manage all this without leaving behind some evidence. It’s gotten so bad that everyone’s afraid to open a drawer, door, or cupboard in the morgue. Things keep exploding. Hurry, before I have to take official notice.”

Jet eyed the phone with disgust. “We gotta hump it. Abby’s on the warpath. Vance wants us back before he has to do something.”

Dean gave him a wide-eyed look. “Oh. My. God. Abby asked me how to gas a head. I thought ...” Gibbs whacked him in the head. “Seriously, I ... well, I really didn’t think much of it. She’s always calling one of us with some sort of odd question. We just answer and get back to work.”

Remy frowned. “Symons ask fo’ it. He got it. No sympathy.” He shrugged and grabbed his stuff. “We gon’ or not?”

It was nearly 1900 so they got on the highway and put the hammer down. They’d done a good PT and had an early lunch, then a leisurely run to the next stop and a late supper. They’d been looking for a place for the night, now they were going to ride until it was too dark to be safe, get up early, scarf down something fast and greasy, then ride until they hit DC, if they even stopped at all. They were going to compress a two-day leisurely run with lots of stops and sight-seeing into six hours or less. No one was happy, but if Abby was getting in trouble, they’d do it.

.

Tony, Jimmy, and Gibbs all sent Abby a text telling her to lay off, she was about to get busted. Tim warned her too. Dean, Cosmo, and Remy just worried and hurried. 

Gibbs turned into a DI, barking at them to get up at 0500. They scrambled around bitching and moaning. Showers, dressing, and eating were accomplished in record time. Gibbs went out and hit McDonalds, even settling for their coffee. He brought back bags of food, then showered, yelling from the shower, “You better leave enough for me ... and lots of coffee.” This caused the next door neighbor to pound on the wall and call the front desk.

They were gone in a roar of exhaust fumes and tire smoke before the desk could react. 

.

Abby emailed Tim. His reply was simple. “Knock it off. We’re coming home.” Abby sighed. She thought maybe she’d gone a bit overboard, and she was upset that her friends had to cut their vacation short, although she was happy she would get to see Tim sooner. His bloodied and cut clothing had upset her. It had taken her all of two minutes to settle to take her samples and do her job. 

Her return email said simply, “Okay. Knocked off. Hurry, but be careful.” It was a bit hard to type with her fingers crossed.

She then hacked Tim’s cell and connected to his GPS so she’d know where they were. Just in case.

.

The Pod roared down the highway, stopping only when someone had to take a piss or they needed gas. When they were pushing hard, they didn’t stop for long; they did a run-through of Wendy’s, McDonalds, or Taco Bell when they got hungry, so two pit stops and a Taco Bell later they stopped in a truck stop for gas and a quick consultation.

Gibbs opined that, since it was only 1100, they should head straight for NCIS; Tony took a quick vote and agreed.

When they roared up to the check point, the Marine who was on duty eyed them doubtfully. Gibbs produced ID, as did everyone else. The guard checked it against his handheld, then motioned them in with a grimace. He was just really glad he didn’t have to deal; they all looked grimy and pissed. The not-so-genial swearing even made him blush a bit.

They gathered in the parking garage, and Gibbs issued orders. “Palmer, head to the fuckin’ morgue and see what the hell is going on there. Take Dean and Cos with. Tim, you and I are headed for Vance. Remy, AJ, find Abby. Go, damn it.”

They split up, heading for their assignments. 

.

Leon Vance threw his pen down the second he realized that the Pod was back on the Yard. This was either going to be very good, or very, very bad; he just wasn’t sure which yet. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Gibbs and McGee stormed into his office.

He took a deep breath then said, “Gentlemen.”

Gibbs just eyed him for a moment, then said with considerable mildness, “What the fuck is going on? What did you let that damn REMF pull that put Abby on the fuckin’ warpath?”

“I didn’t let him pull anything. In fact, I expressly warned him about pissing off any of the forensic team. He didn’t listen. I’ve refrained from interfering, due to a total lack of fucks to give. His situation is his own fault, and I’ve given him a total of ...” he paused to consult a paper, “twenty-five GOMARS. He’s a total ASVAB waiver and a waste of skin. I really wouldn’t care all that much if he was DOG, except for the black mark it would give NCIS. So. Get the fuck out of my office and deal.” 

Gibbs smirked and did a perfect about face. He stalked to the door then remarked, “Just be glad you didn’t write Abby up.” He opened the door, ushered Tim out, then shut it with commendable gentleness.

Vance rumbled, “And I wonder why that isn’t at all reassuring,” then returned to his interminable paperwork.

.

Tony was happy to see Abby sneaking out of the morgue. He eased up behind her, grabbed her around the waist, and hissed, “Do not kick me in the damn jewels,” then hauled her onto the elevator, which Remy had helpfully held for them.

Abby elbowed Tony in the gut just hard enough to let him know that she’d have hurt anyone else. “Let go, jerk.” 

Tony did, and Abby eeled around in his loose grip to hug him. “I’m so glad to see you back. I swear. Really. That man. What a ... I’m not sure what, but I want him gone ... like now.”

Tony nodded, translating Abby babble into comprehensible English with the ease of long-term practice. “Okay. So ... what did Slime-ons do? Just a general explanation.”

So, while the elevator took them up one level to Abby’s lab, Abby explained that Symons was a misogynistic jerk with illusions of competence and a total waste of air, besides being a butcher and a hack who wouldn’t know cirrhosis of the liver from swiss cheese.

They were getting ready to get off, but Gibbs and Tim joined them. Gibbs just punched the button and said, “Morgue.”

Abby whimpered, then started twisting her hands together, something she always did when she was sure Gibbs was going to get mad.

Gibbs just eyed her, hit the stop button and demanded, “Okay, Abs, what the hell did you do now?”

Abby frowned for a moment then admitted, “Well, there might be a tiny bit of C-4 in one of the empty drawers. One I’m sure he’s going to use for something he shouldn’t.”

“What, exactly?” Gibbs frowned.

“He puts his lunch in one. He’s been bringing his lunch ever since he stole someone’s and it ... gave him the GI’s and Montezuma’s Revenge.” Abby dimpled happily at that memory. “But ... he shouldn’t steal other people’s food.”

Gibbs eyed her for a second, then started to laugh. Tim, Remy and AJ joined him, with Abby right behind them.

He slapped the button to re-start the elevator. “Okay. Morgue. And Abby, find the right damn drawer and disarm your trap.”

Abby shrugged. “Can’t. It’s wired to the door with a spring. That’ll shorten the pull cord so that it’s impossible to open the door enough. But it’s just a tiny bomb.”

Tony sighed. “Abby.” He drew her name out into a near whine.

“No, really.” She held her hand up, fingers barely apart. “About that much. I actually had to stick it to the detonator, instead of sticking the det into it.”

Dean winced. “Miss Abby. The thing is ... the det is an explosive in its own right.”

Abby cringed. “Oops.”

The elevator door opened just in time for them all to jump at the loud bang from the Morgue proper. This was followed by a shriek of terror, then laughter.

Gibbs recognized Jimmy, Dean, and Cos’s voices as the laughers; he assumed that the screamer was Symons. The laughter was soon interspersed with swearing as Symons called whoever set the trap several non-specific rude names. Gibbs stalked into the morgue and snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”

Symons turned to him, jaw dropped, and started to complain. Gibbs told him to shut up again, and, after getting a good look at Gibbs’ face, he did.

Gibbs eyed the mess the booby trap had made. “Clean up that mess. Now!” Gibbs’ bark made Symons jump. “And any other mess you’ve made. Move it!”

Symons turned to Jimmy and ordered, “You heard the man, get to it.”

Jimmy just shrugged. “I’m not a damn morgue assistant. I’m an ME in my own damn right and I should have taken over here. And I would have. Except you had to butt in and fuck things up. So ... you broke it, you fix it. And don’t come crawling to me when Ducky sees this.” He waved a hand. “I’m goin’ for coffee. I’ll be back when that fuckin’ jackwad is gone.” He headed for the door but Symons grabbed his arm and gave it a jerk.

This turned out to be the proverbial last straw. Jimmy turned on Symons and snarled, “If you fuckin’ touch me again, you douche, I will break every finger on both hands ... twice. You have gotten on my last nerve. The Morgue looks like a trash dump, and Ducky’s office ...” his jaw worked for a moment then he snarled, “Fix it,” and stormed out the door. 

Gibbs jerked his head at Dean. “You and Cos follow him. Make sure he doesn’t do some idiot a mischief.” They scurried to obey.

Dean caught him first, “Dude, lighten up. You smack him, you’ll have all sorts of trouble.”

Jimmy nodded. “I know. That’s why I took off. The need to punch that thunder cunt ... seriously. I’m just a tad territorial about the morgue and our offices. That ... walking waste of air just shit all over it all and I’m just supposed to take a deep breath, say ‘That’s okay,’ and move on?”

“Nope. Just not supposed to bust your knuckles on someone who won’t learn anything from it. There’s a sort of person that’s so damn stupid that, no matter how much they need an ass-reaming, they’re too stupid to learn anything from it. Waste of valuable resources.” Cos patted Jimmy on the shoulder. 

Jimmy nodded. “Exactly. But the urge to just fuckin’ shoot him is there.”

Dean just nodded wisely and kept his mouth shut. Jimmy was pissed enough without him over-running his mouth.

Jimmy glanced up at a familiar voice. 

Ducky smiled at his friend and assistant. “Well, well. It seems there’s a disturbance in the kingdom. What has you in a lather, my young colleague?”

Jimmy opened his mouth, closed it, then announced, “Symons is a dickwad.” 

Ducky blinked for a moment then said, “I see. Director Vance nearly begged me to return early, so I assumed that he was causing problems.” He punched the elevator button then turned to continue, “Well, shall we go see what sort of mess he’s made?”

Jimmy muttered, “Fuckin’ huge mess. A pile-of-shit sundae with crap topping and fucked-up sauce.”

Ducky blinked for a moment, then just patted Jimmy on the shoulder. “Come along, dear boy.” Ducky led the way into the morgue and looked around. “Oh, dear.”

Symons had thrown another of his hissy fits, as Abby called them, and thrown all the clean instruments onto the floor. He’d also tossed files around and tipped over Jimmy’s chair. 

Gibbs, Tony, Tim, and Remy were just watching him create havoc, knowing that Vance would order him to clean it up himself. What they didn’t know was, Vance was just waiting for a reason to have the man escorted from the building. Symons was giving him the reason he needed.

Ducky eyed the mess, then announced, “Neither James nor I are cleaning that mess up. I’d suggest that someone...” he glowered at Symons. “get to cleaning right now. I’m going up to speak to Director Vance, and this mess had better be gone when I get back.” He eyed the Pod. “And none of you are to help him.”

Dean blinked for a moment, then stepped back, holding up his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Dr. Mallard.”

Everyone else made sounds of agreement. Symons sneered. 

They all watched Ducky leave, then Cos offered, “He’s pissed. Seriously pissed.”

Everyone ranged themselves around the morgue, leaning against this and that, arms crossed over their chests. They just watched without comment as Symons wasted his chance. They didn’t bother to tell him that his loud complaints about their attitude wasn’t doing anything but wasting his breath.

Remy did offer, “Better ought a’ save yo’ damn breath ta cool yo’ gumbo,” which got him a dirty look and a sneer. Remy shrugged, then shout-whispered to Tony. “AJ, we gon’ go? O’ we stayin’ ta see the fun?”

Tony thought for a moment then said, “We all ought to stay. Give Ducky a bit a’ moral support. And a hand frog-marchin’ that fuckin’ asshat out the damn door.”

.

Ducky walked into Vance’s office with a scowl on his face. Vance held up one hand and said, “What’s he done now?” The look on Ducky’s face told Vance that it wasn’t good.

Ducky just told the Director exactly what Symons had done, not done, and who he’d annoyed, pissed off, or made homicidal. When he was done, he crossed his arms over his chest and snarled, “And I want that ruddy git out of my lab, now. I want that wanker out of NCIS and off the Yard before I do him a mischief that he won’t soon recover from.” He eyed Vance for a moment before adding, “And, Leon, you might have cause to remember that I was in the field while you were still grass.” 

Leon Vance wasn’t a foolish man and had read Ducky’s un-redacted file, so he just punched a button on his phone and said, “Cynthia, please get word to security that they’ll be needed in the Morgue. Symons is on his way out.”

Ducky just nodded firmly and said, “Indeed he is.” He marched out the door, back ramrod straight. He went to the elevator and punched the button. Unfortunately, he punched it hard enough that it jammed. He eyed it for a moment, grumbled, “Bloody hell! Cheap piece of shite,” and took the stairs.

As he approached the morgue doors, Ducky heard Gibbs saying, “Well, you know the old saying: ‘You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink.’ In this case, you can tell a fool he’s a fool, but you can’t make him listen.”

Ducky slapped the door button and waited while they hissed open. He stalked into the morgue and announced, “I see that the mess is still here. In that case ... AJ ... Remy, please see Symons out of the building. Don’t be gentle either. Jimmy, you and I shall clean. If anyone else would be so kind as to volunteer, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Jimmy, being closest to Symons and not in that good a mood, grabbed him by one arm. Symons, being that sort of nutjob, slapped him. Jimmy shrugged and slugged him, knocking him flat on his ass. He glanced around at the group then said, with commendable mildness, “Remy ... AJ ... Would you please take that out? He’s contaminating my morgue.”

Ducky agreed with that sentiment. “Yes, please do.” He turned to Jimmy and said, “Well, done, Dr. Palmer, well done. A wisty-caster indeed.” 

Two security guards arrived just then, trotting in the door just in time to see Symons stand up, hand pressed to his stinging cheek.

He pointed to Jimmy and demanded, “He struck me. Arrest him.”

Jimmy snorted. “Okay, I’d like ...”

Gibbs walked all over that one. “Palmer, stick a sock in it. You ...” he eyed the guards. “Help AJ and Remy get that piece of shit out of here. Toss him out the side door.”

Abby, who’d stayed quiet and out of the way, now cheered happily, bouncing up and down on her four-inch-platform Mary Janes. “Yay! Way t’ go, Jimmy! AJ! Remy! Gogogo!”

It didn’t take all four men, two security guards, AJ, and Remy, to get Symons out the door. One of the guards grabbed him by one arm while Remy got the other. Symons swore at them and struggled, but a quick move by the guard had him in an armlock and on the way out the door. Tony’s cheerful announcement of, “We’ll just take him out the evidence garage door, it’s the closest. Okay?” was greeted by swearing from Symons. You actually couldn’t blame him, or maybe you could, as the location of the parking garage meant that he was going to have to walk all the way around to the other side of the building, outside, enter NCIS, get a clearance and an escort, then make his way to the underground garage, get his car, then get back through security.

Dean spoke to one of the check-point guards then grinned around, “Wonder if he knows how to put his interior back together.” 

Cos shrugged. “Probably not.” 

.

After being put out the small sally port in the main garage door, to much cheering on the part of everyone there, Dr. Symons walked. He wasn’t pleased by his impromptu hike, as he was wearing shoes more suited to a cocktail party than a three-block hike. When he finally got to the front check-in, he was told that he had to get clearance to enter from Vance himself. 

This took nearly an hour while he paced, swore at the guards, and in general made an ass of himself. When he was finally given permission to enter, he still had to wait another twenty minutes until they could find someone willing to escort him to his car. 

The man who agreed was a no-nonsense, older man with an aggressive attitude and a fresh high-and-tight. He eyed Symons for a moment, then barked, “I’m not takin’ any shit from you. You go where you’re damn well supposed to, and that’s it. No fuckin’ side trips. If you gotta take a piss, hold it. Move out.”

Symons started to whine, but Officer Jones was not in the mood. “Did I ask for a stupid comment? No. Do I want one? No. If I want your damn opinion on anything, I will beat it out of you. With your right arm. We clear?” Symons nodded, looking like he was about to piss himself. He was finally getting a clue. “Now, you need to get your car and get the fuck off my Yard soonest. Clear?” Symons nodded again and followed Officer Jones away. 

He got his car and drove to the exit check point. He fumed quietly as the three-woman crew dismantled his seats, center console, and trunk. They spent some of the search making comments on his ass, his hair, his suit, and his musculature. He wasn’t pleased, but he was beginning to realize that his attitude had brought about this treatment. He probably would never realize why his behavior made people mad, but he was beginning to realize that it did. Not that it was going to do him any good at this late date. He finally got his car back together and left the Navy Yard, never to return.

.

Ducky looked into his office, then turned and said, “That’s not my desk, nor my chair. What the bloody hell is going on here?” He sighed, “I leave for two weeks, to present, and everything goes to hell. Really?”

Dean patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you have a nice cup of tea while we get things back to normal.”

Jimmy chuckled, “As if anything around here is ever what anyone would call normal. But ...” he eyed his desk. “I’ll start with my desk...” he shoved it back into place. “Which is supposed to be here. And where’s ...”

Abby interrupted him. “I’ve got all your stuff stashed in the evidence garage. When Housekeeping got pissed, they pulled all your furniture. I got them to put it in a locked bay so you could get it back. Glad I did too. Symons ... he’s ... jerk.” She fizzled for a moment more then called someone in the garage. She babbled at them for a moment then hung up. “Your stuff will be back in ten minutes,” she smiled happily. “Everything’s going to be back to normal.”

And it was. Housekeeping brought back what they’d taken; Evidence returned what Abby had asked them to store. Abby returned the tea kettle and coffee maker. It only took about half an hour to be back to normal. 

Ducky settled at his desk with a cup of Earl Grey and a sigh. “I know my filing system was a bit ... old-fashioned. So ... where are all my files?”

Tony chuckled softly. “Ducky, your filing system was ASWD so all your files are filed. Ask Yvonne in Files for anything you really need. It’s all easy to find ... for her. Sorry about messing up your system, but Slime-on would probably have shredded everything just for spite. We didn’t want to take the chance. So ... filed in Files ... um ... where most of it should have been long ago.”

Ducky just nodded. “Oh, I agree. But, you see, I had a bit of a disagreement with Mrs. Lonnergan ... oh ... years ago. She was a most impossible woman, so I either filed things myself or just stacked them in here. I’ll admit that it’s a bit of a relief to have all that out of my office.” He took a sip of his tea. “Now to keep it this way.”

Jimmy blinked at Ducky for a moment then said, “But ... But ... if you’d just said, I’d have taken care of it all. Only ... you never ... so I thought ... well, far be it from me to ... to ... presume above my station ... so to speak. Not that ... well... Um...” he sighed. “Shutting up now.”

Gibbs rubbed his face with one hand. “Duck ... you do know that Lonnergan retired ... six years ago?”

Ducky looked up from his tea. “No. Really? Extraordinary.” He returned to his tea with a tiny smile on his lips.

Tony just jerked his head at Jimmy. “You know what needs done; we’re warm and willing.” 

So Jimmy gave instructions, then told Abby, “You point out any remaining booby traps. I don’t want explosions of any kind in MY morgue.”

Abby saluted left handed and barked, “Sir! Yes, Sir! On it, Sir!”

Jimmy sighed and said, “Wrong hand, and I’m not even enlisted. Get to it.”

It took nearly an hour to dismantle all Abby’s traps, clean the morgue properly, and reorganize the things that Symons had moved, lost, or just neglected to replace.

When they were done, Gibbs said, “Abby we need to have a little talk.”

Abby scowled for a moment then sighed. “Okay. But I’m pretty sure I know what you’re going to say and ... well ... I guess I did go a bit overboard but ... Sheila in Accounting is getting an ulcer, Beverly in Files ... he pinched her butt. And Doug in Evidence ... Symons accused him of being queer and he’s not. Not that there’s anything wrong with being LBT but it was an obvious attempt to get him into some sort of trouble so ... and there was Linda in the SecPool, he ... told her he’d get her fired for taking a day off when he wanted her to do his filing and on and on and ... I got a bit carried away when I thought of all the people he bullied so ...” she hung her head, biting her lip. “I guess I turned into a bit of a bully myself. I’m sorry.” She looked up when Gibbs chucked her under the chin with one finger. “I’m not apologizing to him, though.”

Gibbs hugged Abby then said, “Okay, you see what you did wrong and you’re sorry. Just don’t do it again. Okay?”

Abby sighed and hugged Gibbs back. “Okay. I think I’ll give up on jokes for awhile.”

They wound up lounging around Ducky’s office, listening to Abby tell them all about her jokes and explaining just how badly she could have hurt herself or someone else.

Tony told her, “And that’s why we stick to glue, silly string, and messing with each other’s computers and food.”

 

 

.

When I was working, the main complaint we all had was the notorious ‘food bandit’, usually management, who saw nothing wrong with helping him- or herself to any lunch that they wanted. They all seemed to think that the person could just go out and buy something. Never mind that the underpaid “peons” brought lunch because they couldn’t afford to buy something, or they had food allergies. It wasn’t that unusual for someone to booby-trap food with ipecac or Ex-Lax. 

And dealing with food thieves was especially bad for those of us who worked the night shift ―third or graveyard shift― since nothing much, including the cafeteria, was open. Jordre.

FOADIAF - fuck off and die in a fire.


End file.
